


Fireworks

by Felgia_Starr



Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DFW 2020 Challenge, F/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Snogging, a REALLY late new year's fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: Pressured by their managers, Draco and Hermione come together one evening during the Midnight Kiss Ball, a yearly get-together of greedy record labels, eating up business deals like they’re treats, disguised as a New Year’s Eve party for artists to celebrate their success during the year.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666876
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Fireworks

“Hermione!”   
  
“Hermione, over here!”   
  
Sometime during her ten years in the music industry and show business, Hermione trained herself to become immune to the non-human screaming and calls for her name. She’s not a teenager anymore, after all; she should be used to the tens and hundreds—sometimes thousands—of people screeching for her attention. In fact, some people might even say that she should be grateful.    
  
This is what she keeps in her head as she smiles and poses and acts pretty for the cameras.  _ I should be grateful _ . It doesn’t matter that she’s getting more teary-eyed by the minute because of all the bright flashes and all the white lights; it doesn’t matter that the floor-length nude designer gown she’s wearing is making her feel more like a hunk of meat than a person because of all the harsh critiques and sexist remarks she hears from the journalists or photographers or even the security guards who she knows are only doing their jobs.    
  
Her thoughts shouldn’t matter in a situation where she’s in front of the press or the fans or other artists. Why would she voice her complaints when she can simply just be fucking grateful?   
  
When her time is finished on the red carpet, Hermione is faced with another obstacle, interviewers. Now that she’s done with looking pretty, she has to sound pretty for the internet and television.    
  
“Hello, Hermione!” greets the first interviewer, smiling the most genuine smile Hermione has seen tonight.   
  
She smiles back, of course. “Hi, how are you?”   
  
“I’m good. What about you?” the interviewer responds, cutting to the questions as quick as possible.   
  
Hermione looks around the place, acting like she’s only just taking in the decoration, the people, and the prestige of the event, never letting go of her award-winning smile. “I’m doing really great. The Midnight Kiss Ball is such a great event to celebrate artists, and I feel so honoured to have the opportunity to be invited every year since my debut. And Dumbledore really outdid himself this year.”   
  
“Yes, yes!” The interviewer almost looks excited at her words. Almost. “I remember you last year! I believe you wore a custom-made Ginevra Weasley gown with beaded stones to represent the night sky! What are you going for this year? What is the concept of your outfit? And how does it correlate to the theme which is the Seven Deadly Sins, I believe?”   
  
Finally getting to the point of the interview, Hermione’s smile widens. “Well, we decided to—of course—follow my brand, so to speak. You know that I’m always expressing my sexuality in my music, so what better sin than lust for me to represent this year?” She throws in a scripted chuckle to look more authentic in the eyes of the audience. “I wanted to wear a gown to show nudity without actually being naked, and we found this beautifully embroidered nude gown from Ginevra Weasley’s 2019 Spring Collection. I wanted the colour of the fabric to be as close to my skin colour as possible and this was just a lucky find, to be honest.” Another chuckle escapes her lips. “It’s skintight, and I love that it shows every part of me that I personally think is lustful without actually showing those parts, do you know what I mean?”   
  
It’s true. Hermione loves her own body and wants to express to other girls that they can love their own, too, and she’s been in love with the gown ever since she put her eyes on it, but she feels suffocated wearing the dress because of the comments that she’s too fat, too thin, too slutty.   
  
“I noticed that you’ve been wearing Weasley since your debut in 2009,” the interviewer continues to prattle on. “Do you mind if I ask what is your relationship with Ms Ginevra?”   
  
“Oh, we’re close friends—very close. I love her to death, honestly. Our friendship sounds so unlikely that I just want to keep it forever.”   
  
“Are there other unlikely friends here?” The interviewer’s eyebrows raise in a suggestive manner. “Perhaps friends that you’re thinking of working with in the future?”   
  
Hermione has to laugh at the interviewer’s on-the-nose question. “Well, you guys know that I’m total besties with Harry Potter, but we have very… different plans for our music careers, and we’ve always thought that a collaboration wasn’t a good idea. Maybe I can feature on a ballad of his. I don’t know! It’s the end of the year—the Midnight Kiss Ball! It’s the perfect time to make unlikely friendships and collaborations with other amazing artists.”   
  
“Yes, definitely, it is!” The interviewer grins. “Congratulations on the success of your single,  _ Sugar & Spice, _ earlier this year! And honestly, thank you for being such an iconic legend! You look gorgeous tonight, girl!”   
  
“Thank you. And you look gorgeous as well!”   
  
With that, Hermione moves on to the next interviewer, feeling exhausted already just twenty minutes after she arrived.   
  
She sighs, wistfully wishing she could just go home after she’s eaten, but something tells her this is going to be the longest New Year’s Eve she’ll ever have.

* * *

Hermione is seated with other solo artists of her calibre, namely Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson, Theo Nott, Draco Malfoy, and Neville Longbottom. They became successful about the same time she did and continue to be successful and relevant to this day. Hermione would be lying if she said that she isn’t a fan of their music—she has openly admitted that she’s constantly being inspired by other people in the industry.    
  
She fleetingly wonders if they’re considered legends or icons now that ten years or so have passed. All of them even earned the privilege of being recognized anywhere in the world simply by their first names, so are they really ‘iconic legends’ now?    
  
Probably not. The artists that inspired her whilst growing up never really got into the Halls of Fame alive. Everyone likes celebrities better when they’re dead, she guesses. Nothing gets them trending better than their own funeral. Maybe reminiscence just automatically forces one to think of a person in their best light. Maybe she’s overthinking it.   
  
“Hermione, how are you feeling tonight?” Luna softly asks in her infamous angelic voice, a gentle smile on her face. Hermione hates that the smile she receives is the same smile she sees in her album covers and photoshoots.   
  
Luna might just be the sweetest person Hermione’s ever encountered, and she’s willing to admit that even if they’re not on the same level in matters of logic and intellect and good taste in music. “Good. Really good. The food’s amazing.”   
  
“I listened to  _ Sugar & Spice _ nonstop all summer, by the way,” Pansy chimes in, her tone high-pitched and her flow quick—in short, not at all differing from her bubbly, radio-friendly pop songs. “It’s Song of the Year, in my opinion. It might even beat your breakup hit in October, Draco.”   
  
Hermione’s eyes turn to the man in question, not knowing what to do when their gazes meet and he shoots a quick smirk at her.    
  
“Considering that I wrote that song in just two hours, recorded it in five, and filmed the music video on my phone the very same day, I’ll gladly let Hermione take the cake here,” Draco says, that air of confidence never fading as he spoke. In all of her years as a well-known singer-songwriter with everlasting opportunities to meet other great caricatures, Hermione can safely say she has never truly met someone like Draco Malfoy.    
  
He is one of a kind, and she means that in the most neutral way possible. While they have chatted once or twice in a party or two before and she doesn’t necessarily perceive him as a terrible person, Hermione is always uncertain on how to approach him in a way that would appease both of their record labels. She often finds herself showcasing bits and pieces of her genuine self to him. And she’s still undecided on whether she likes it or not.    
  
Hermione blinks, unsure of what to make of his words. She can never guess what he’s thinking and, sometimes, even what he’s talking about. Is he boasting and insulting her in a passive-aggressive manner? Or is this nicest compliment he can generate?    
  
So instead of safe things like rehearsed words and practised chuckles, she ends up stepping onto dangerous ground and blurting out what she’s actually thinking about. “I don’t know if I should say thank you or…”   
  
Draco lets out a small laugh. “It’s a compliment, Granger. I don’t want my half-arsed and rushed song to get recognized when you actually took your time in writing, singing, and producing to release a modern masterpiece.”   
  
Hermione cannot help the smile that escapes her. She isn’t looking for validation from other artists, that’s for sure, but hearing something as good-natured as Malfoy’s words really makes her night—and maybe even her entire year. “Thank you.”   
  
He smiles back at her, and she’s almost ashamed to admit that this particular interaction with him has been the most genuine thing she has experienced in what seems like ages. And of course, as most cherished moments tend to be, her own moment with Draco gets interrupted by someone who has little idea of how almost tragic it feels to have something like that get cut off unexpectedly.   
  
“So spill the tea, Hermione.” Pansy smirks, swirling the champagne in her glass. “What inspired you to write something as monumental as _ Sugar & Spice? _ Tell us everything you don’t want the media to know.”   
  
“It’s honestly just my scattered thoughts and feelings,” she lies, her facade back in place. She worked her hardest on that six-minute song. The message  _ was  _ something that had been on her mind for a while, but she made sure that every word in the song was well-articulated, every ad-lib and beat purposeful, and every frame in the visual a _ modern masterpiece _ —literally all the parts singing just one message: mental health is fucking important. “I spent five months working on it. The song is very dear to my heart even though, at first, we weren’t sure if it was going to top the charts or not.”   
  
“The song’s message is timely and relevant, and to be honest, I don’t know why or how you were the first one to do something like that.” Neville speaks up for the first time since Luna began the conversation. “I just want to say thank you for breaking boundaries and stepping up—and congratulations, you definitely deserve Song of the Year.”   
  
“Yes, it truly is monumental,” Luna assents, still softly smiling. “It sounds like the song of a generation, you know?”   
  
Hermione puts a hand over her heart. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Hermione,” Minerva McGonagall calls out with a stern face, beckoning her over, and like a dutiful servant, she follows her master’s orders without complaint or question.   
  
She was sixteen years old when she signed to Gryffindor Records, full of hopes and dreams. Back then, nothing mattered to her but making music and being heard by the masses, and she didn’t even think twice before selling her soul to the music industry. She was young and utterly stupid. All she could think about was how great of an opportunity it was to get an offer by such a big name in the show business; she never thought it would be this exhausting.   
  
When Hermione makes her way in front of her manager, she recognizes the man standing next to her immediately, along with the blond man in tow. Flashing them a brilliant smile, she greets, “Happy New Year’s Eve, Ms Minerva and Mr Severus, if I’m not mistaken?”   
  
“Mr Snape is enough.” He sniffs, looking at her as though she’s inferior to him.   
  
“Of course.” Hermione slightly bows her head. “My apologies, Mr Snape.”   
  
“I believe you’ve met Draco Malfoy.” Snape ignores her, choosing instead to get to the point and referring to the all-too-familiar blond behind him.   
  
Draco smirks, waving a hand to her as a greeting. “We were seated at the same table for supper.”   
  
In the corner of her eye, Hermione sees Ms Minerva purse her lips at Malfoy’s rude introduction. “Yes, we’ve met several times on similar occasions before, but I haven’t had the chance to speak to him in a more intimate manner.”   
  
For some reason, Malfoy laughs quietly after she finishes talking, but before he can retort or before she can ask him about it, Ms Minerva speaks up. “Clearly, the boy learned his manners from you, Severus. I haven’t even heard a proper greeting coming from him yet.”   
  
At that, Malfoy blinks in surprise. Obviously, he isn’t expecting to get called out. Hermione has to suppress a smirk of her own as she watches his gaze shift from Ms Minerva to his own manager.   
  
Then Malfoy seems to accept his fate and shrug, taking Ms Minerva’s hand and pressing a short kiss on her ring before leaning back into a much more proper posture. “Forgive me, Ms McGonagall. I found myself completely distracted by Ms Granger’s beauty tonight and yours as well. A very good evening to both of you radiant ladies, and have a great New Year’s Eve.”   
  
“Thank you, Draco,” she says, grinning from ear-to-ear at his dramatic antics. “You do look handsome this evening, as well.”   
  
He winks at her, and Hermione cannot help the soft chuckle she breathes out of her lips, making Draco laugh a little too loud as well.   
  
“That is quite enough,” Snape intervenes, his tone dry and unamused.   
  
“Yes, please, enough,” Ms Minerva says in an admonishing tone that makes Hermione stiffen and act accordingly. “While we’re delighted to have the both of you getting along quite swimmingly, that is not what you are here for.”   
  
There is a promising gleam present in Ms Minerva’s gaze, making Hermione’s stomach churn in anticipation. Even earlier, when she saw Ms Minerva and Snape discussing what looked to be “very serious money-grubbing matters”. A hunch formed in her mind as to what, exactly, they were talking about. She just hopes she’s wrong.   
  
“Oh?” Draco intones, suddenly serious, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Then what are we here for?”   
  
“We’ve decided that you two will both benefit greatly from a joint project of sorts,” Snape drawls, making Hermione’s stomach drop. “As the top two artists of the year, we felt as though there is something missing in both of your careers that is preventing you from becoming more successful than you already are. We decided that you two will be working on a collaborative studio album.”   
  
Sour bile crawls up her throat, her hands transforming into fists as her face scrunches up in with disappointed anger.   
  
It’s exactly what she thought it would be.   
  
“What?” Draco blurts out, an angry frown twisting his mouth. “I told you yesterday I was planning to take a break next year!”   
  
Ms Minerva tuts, sending a disapproving glare to Malfoy. “You simply cannot ‘take a break,’ especially not when you’re this successful.”   
  
“And why not?” Hermione joins in, disbelief laced in every breath it takes for her to say the three words.   
  
With narrowed eyes and a disappointed frown, Ms Minerva turns to her, explaining with a painfully chastising tone. “You do realize that if you ‘take a break,’ you’ll run into risks like being irrelevant and unpopular when you come back—risks that cannot be taken when you’re both at such a high place.”   
  
Hermione swallows the fight that’s threatening to let loose inside her, turning her gaze to the floor. “I understand, Ms Minerva. It will be best for both of our careers if we start off the next decade with a bang.” She looks up and manages to come up with a possibly stale smile, raising an eyebrow at Malfoy. “Right, Draco?”   
  
She winces when Malfoy deepens his scowl instead of playing along with her to appease the masters. “No! I already planned a holiday trip with my mother! You can’t possibly—”   
  
“Stop before you embarrass yourself, Mr Malfoy,” Snape sighs. “Nothing is written in stone yet. We approached you before making any drastic decision to give you a chance to talk it out, think about it, do whatever you young people do nowadays.”   
  
“But—” Malfoy is cut off by Ms Minerva’s dismissive hand.   
  
Ms Minerva brushes off her robes. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have other matters to attend to.”   
  
Then they leave. Just like that. Hermione is unsure why she’s still surprised—her superiors never take time to listen to her anyway, to any of them.   
  
She glances at Malfoy, his hands clenched into fists as he glares at his shoes.   
  
“Do you want to get a drink or something?” she offers, desperate to drink tonight’s events away and regret it the next morning.   
  
Draco turns his scalding sneer on her, and nervousness thrums in her chest until he sighs, murmuring, “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

And so, many shots of barely-alcoholic cocktails later—because even though they want so badly to get all fucked up and drunk, their images are still subconsciously more important to them than they believe—at roughly 11:45 into the night, Hermione and Draco wind up on the rooftop of the Dumbledore Hotel, shoes off as they sit in a comfortable manner, their backs against the glass ledge.    
  
Hermione’s previously neat bun has been undone, her curls flying about her head; she has her gown bunched up to her thighs in order to get a little more comfortable, and her hands are focused on rubbing her poor toes, aching from her beautiful yet deadly high heels. Draco, on the other hand, threw his tie away a long time ago, his last shot of kamikaze cocktail in one hand while his face is resting on the other, propped up by his knee.   
  
“I feel terrible,” Hermione says, basically summarising her entire night.   
  
Draco snorts lazily. “No shit.”   
  
She chooses to ignore that, frowning at her red and swollen toes absentmindedly as she tries to process what has become of her life for the millionth time. “I feel terrible—like,  _ really  _ terrible.”   
  
She feels Draco’s shoulders shrug beside her, and it sort of comforts her a little bit. When he speaks, his voice is low and gruff and just as tired as she feels. “Me too.”   
  
“Do you ever,” she wonders, pausing for a quick second, “do you ever regret all of it?”   
  
Draco sighs, shifting until his legs are straight in front of him. “All of it? No.”   
  
“What do you actually regret?”   
  
“I regret… I regret letting it get this far,” he responds in a vulnerable whisper that speaks to her heart. “Sometimes, I regret doing so much and doing my best because now, nothing is acceptable but that—the best.”   
  
Hermione turns to look at him then and sees no facade in his expression, no mask at all. Everything he’s saying at the moment is all him and only him. Afraid of shattering the moment, she chooses to whisper her next words. “What do you mean?”   
  
He lets out a breath, gulps down the shot, and places it on the ground in barely a minute, but even after all that, he still hesitates to answer, running a hand through his blond hair, messing it up even more.    
  
Finally, with an exhaustive sigh, he speaks. “I mean… I feel like when I was younger, everything was so much easier. At the beginning of my career, no one really knew who I was, and it was so easy and even fun to make music because back then, it felt like my music was just my own, you know? It didn’t feel as… suffocating as having millions of people breathe down your neck and expect you to constantly outdo your best.” He pauses, his eyes glazing over as though he’s deep in thought. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for all the good things that happened to me, and I’m not saying I hate my fans and supporters, but sometimes they feel like my harshest critics and I’m just… I am so fucking terrified of disappointing them, disappointing everyone who’s ever believed in me.”   
  
She turns her gaze away from him, pained by his words and expression, choosing to stare ahead absently. Hermione gently rests her head back, leaning against the ledge and mulling over what he said. Her heart aches with empathy for what he’s going through, and the frustration in every syllable of his words hits each heartbeat that slams against her chest. “I know how that feels. It’s like you’re indebted to everyone who expects something from you, like you owe them your entire career, and you have no choice but to put out whatever you think is going to be good enough for them.”   
  
She hears him nod, the sound of his clothes shifting slightly at the movement. “The pressure weighs heavier every time I release new music, and it’s so bloody exhausting when everyone in the world is just holding their breath, waiting to judge the next step I take. That’s why I miss the old days when I meant nothing and nobody expected anything great from me; I was just doing what I love most: making music.”   
  
A loose yet genuine smile curves her lips as she recalls when she was just trying to make it through and finds that she misses it a lot as well. Back then, nobody but her closest relatives and friends cared to listen to her music; that was it. They all had a shared love for music, and they tried their hardest to contribute something to the art. Nowadays, making music feels like a lifeline, like something addictive she cannot live without, like the only thing that keeps her grip on reality.    
  
Smile slowly dropping, she exhales a wistful sigh. “Merlin, I somehow feel so old right now.”   
  
Malfoy chuckles, the sound as soft as a single feather hitting the ground. The moment shared between them is so vulnerable and genuine that it makes Hermione’s eyes water a bit. It is so relieving to finally be herself.    
  
And for a fleeting moment, the atmosphere stays untouchable until Draco breaks through the wall.   
  
“How about you?” he softly asks. “What do you regret?”   
  
A bitter chuckle escapes her lips before she can stop it. “Would you laugh at me if I told you that I wish I was working at the Ministry instead, and that I regret not going for  _ that  _ career path?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Well, there you go.” Hermione sighs. “I regret that my life is not as simple as I want it to be, and I know that’s a selfish, ‘poor little rich girl’ thought, but I’m just so...” She groans, putting her hands up to cover her face in frustration. Knowing that her voice will be muffled when she speaks, Hermione chooses that as the perfect moment to continue. “I’m just so unhappy.”   
  
Admitting it out loud is more emotional than she thought. As soon as the last word leaves her mouth, sobs wrack her entire frame and tears rain down her cheeks. She feels like there’s nothing she can do but cry, and so she cries. Hard.   
  
A warm hand lands gently on her back and the feel of it, even through the fabric, seems more soothing than a healing balm. Draco sends murmurs of encouragement and breaths of comfort into her ear until her sobs quieten and her tears run out.   
  
“I’m so unhappy,” she rants when it feels safe enough for her to speak again, “and I feel so guilty about it because I know there are people out there who have nothing and would die just to be here. I feel like I don’t have the right to be unhappy when I’m at a place most people spend their entire lives just to get a taste of. And I know I should be grateful, and I try so hard to be happy again, but after all these years of pretending, I don’t think I know what true happiness is anymore.”   
  
After she’s finished baring her soul to the man who always brings out the most genuine version of her, she takes a long breath in and slowly exhales it all out. It feels so good to breathe, to be real—to be free.   
  
“It’s okay to feel like that, you know?” Draco speaks after what feels like a lifetime. “You have the right to be unhappy, and no one can take that away from you.”   
  
His words reassure her more than he realizes. It’s the first time she’s admitted her not-so well-being to anybody, and she finds that it almost feels rewarding. It’s the first time her state of unhappiness is validated, and it’s so crazy that the validation makes her feel like a living, breathing human being with feelings instead of a product or a way to get more money.   
  
“Thank you.” Hermione shuts her eyes, feeling a big smile shining on her face at the same time.   
  
“No,” he contradicts in the gentlest tone, “Thank  _ you. _ ”   
  
When she opens her eyes again to get a glimpse of his current expression, her cheeks flush as she realizes that he’s been staring at her this whole time with a joyful grin spread across his face, and Hermione suddenly feels silly. Did they really just come up the rooftop to share sob stories?   
  
A giggle bursts out of her lips at the thought, and even though Draco looks confused at first, he eventually laughs along with her.   
  
“Do you remember when I told you during dinner that my song only took one day to make?” Draco looks giddy, like he’s sitting on clouds at the moment or something. When she nods, he continues. “Well, I fucking lied. I gave up my blood, sweat, and tears to perfect that single. It’s the best fucking song I ever wrote about my ex.”   
  
Hermione just continues to laugh at that, at them, and at every single lie they ever told. Draco laughs with her, and it feels familiar somehow, as if he’s an old friend of hers and they just spent their entire day reminiscing about the good old times. Everything with him always seems to be natural, never forced or faked. And she has to admit that it feels so good to be this real with someone.   
  
When their amusement dies down, Hermione finds herself memorising every detail of his face, her mind already coming up with a melody to fit her appreciation of him at that moment. Her hand reaches up to get a feel of his skin, and her eyes are suddenly fixated on the pinkness and softness of his lips.   
  
Then she hears fireworks shooting up the sky, along with the sounds of horns and loud music playing everywhere—signs of a new year, a new life, and a new beginning. It feels like the perfect moment to kiss.   
  
And like a scripted film, their lips meet at that exact thought, and it’s so much more exciting than the explosive lights flashing in the sky.    
  
The way he smiles against her mouth when she leans in to deepen their kiss melts her entire being, shoulders collapsing and the tightness in her chest disappearing. She cannot help but lightly suckle on his lower lip, desperate to get a good taste of him. When his tongue runs along her lips, she swears she can see fireflies beaming beneath her closed eyelids. Their tongues meet in a passionate dance filled with flaming need, her heartbeat quickening and getting louder by the minute.   
  
Kissing Draco is like having wings sprout out of her back and then flying a little too close to the sun, enough to feel the burn beneath her bones; having his face in her palms is like holding the upcoming decade between her fingers; being this close to him is like being set free from every constraint that once held her down, like finally getting a hold on her life. Kissing Draco is an all-encompassing experience—one that is so real that it feels like her soul is slowly opening up to his.   
  
They eventually part to breathe, and Hermione can’t help but hate being human and needing to intake air every once in a while. They do not separate though, and she’s grateful to be reassured by the feel of his forehead against hers and his breath on her lips.    
  
“We missed the fireworks,” Draco murmurs against her mouth.   
  
Hermione wraps her arms around his neck and laughs just a little to prolong the gentle moment. “Who cares?”   
  
Then he captures her lips again, unknowingly proving that fireworks have absolutely nothing on the way his kiss makes her entire world explode.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt I used in this one is 'midnight kiss.' I want to say thank you to NuclearNik for being an awesome friend & betaing this for me!!!
> 
> Paalam! ;)


End file.
